At Van Ness and Green
a red-tail dives for pigeons
in a Chinese elm. He misses.
The branch is slender, and threatens
to launch him off toward Gough Street.
On his face, failed hawk regret

The light turns green:
slow, sullen wings beat toward the Wharf.

At the corner of Greenwich
two dozen crows mob a parapet.
Geese cross the Golden Gate athwart the bridge.

I used to drive the Richmond Bridge mid-day
and brown pelicans
sailed above the water
or evening, a silver salmon sky
and cormorants stretched arms
on pilings.

At my desk one day a feather
floated slow to earth outside the glass
and then another.
The third, I saw, had meat attached.
A falcon on the power pole.
It turned one yellow-rimmed eye toward us.
We knelt to watch it eat.

1. 
   eRobin 2006 02 15 at 12:13:09 pm

   This is such a welcome respite from all the current talk of shooting birds pen-raised and otherwise.